


That Is How My Road Began

by poquito (manta)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, koujaku reminisces like an old man, these two will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/poquito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My love is like fallen leaves returned to roots. Home will only be by your side.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Is How My Road Began

“Shall we, Aoba?”

Koujaku offers his arm, bent at the elbow, his ramrod straight posture and formal tone reminiscent of an overly prepared prom date. He’d look handsome, even dignified, if this isn’t just a walk in the park and Koujaku is a top-notch sap.

Ever the long-suffering boyfriend, Aoba rolls his eyes. “Honestly,” he grumbles. But he accepts Koujaku’s arm every time, and he accepts it now; it’s strong and warm, and Aoba huddles closer when an icy breeze is firm enough to rouse whispers from the trees.

Sometimes, they link together as soon as they exit Koujaku’s- no, their- home, in which case they avoid Benishigure territory. It’s not due to Koujaku’s lack of commitment to their relationship, or his concern for what his subordinates think of it. Rather, it’ll be a while before there’s time to spare for a trip to the mainland, and he wants to tell his mother about Aoba before anyone else.

Regardless of where or when they meet, this quiet walkway waits for them, lined by bowed trees almost stripped of their green. How they get here isn’t as important as the fact they’re here at all, strolling arm-in-arm down the lane illuminated by the dying light. Beni and Ren race ahead to stir up flurries of colour; indicators of time are all around them in every expired leaf, but Koujaku and Aoba are in no rush.

“How was work?” Aoba asks as he does everyday, his tone light. There’s an unspoken agreement that serious conversations are best accompanied with steaming cups of tea at the table on late nights, or in bed where they’re most comfortable and vulnerable.

Koujaku has interesting customers and the occasional celebrity client, but today it’s Aoba who describes his three rush deliveries in blow-by-blow detail. It’s not the story itself Koujaku pays attention to, however- it’s the way Aoba’s voice rises and falls with each new development, how Aoba’s grip on Koujaku’s arm tightens when he recounts his daring escape from Morphine thugs in a dark alleyway, the way Aoba’s eyes soften at Ren’s yelp of a sneeze when a leaf lands on the Allmate’s nose. With their different areas of expertise, Koujaku finds it difficult to keep up with his boyfriend. But that knowledge will come slowly, or perhaps never at all; Koujaku understands none of the technical terms Aoba spouts, and yet he can listen to Aoba talk all night.

They’re approaching the swing set they played with as children. Aoba subconsciously edges behind Koujaku, a habit his younger self could never break. He scowls when Koujaku laughs, though it breaks into a smile when Koujaku stops to kiss his forehead. They settle onto a nearby bench, still talking, their Allmates wedging safely in between them when they finally tire from playing. Koujaku finally calls it a day when Beni falls asleep atop Ren’s head, and tucks them both safely into his kimono while pulling Aoba to his feet.

It’s dark enough now that they can make their way back holding hands, sharing the sidewalk with passers-by who duck their heads against the cold. Koujaku frets that Aoba’s jacket doesn’t reach his midsection, to which Aoba points out Koujaku’s bare chest. They know that as the chill sets in and the days grow short, the day will come when they stow away their summer attire for warmer clothing, in favour of the advancing months. The seasons alternate relentlessly but it is their first of many autumns together, when even a mundane walk means everything.

It’s still hard to process that fate saw fit to lead Koujaku so far away, only to bring him back. He marvels at how much he has been gifted, when he hardly feels deserving of anything. But once he has these blessings he’ll fight to keep them, and Aoba will help him believe in them.

The gust bites at their exposed faces, making them wince. But contentment warms them to the bone.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this artwork](http://buzama.tumblr.com/post/81753915424). It's spring themed, but what better way to welcome autumn than with some slow (and admittedly self indulgent) KouAo?
> 
> The title and summary are lyrics translated from Wang Leehom’s [ “Fallen Leaves Returned to Roots"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ElSO_8jo8yE).
> 
> Thanks to [b_minor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/b_minor/pseuds/b_minor) for being a helpful and lovely beta. Which included putting up with all my KouAo squeeing.


End file.
